(no subject)
To put order into it, this whole thing started when I wondered where home is. And I came to the conclusion that home must be the fields close to my grandmother's house. That's where I was happiest because that is where I could be alone. It really says a lot about you, if your favourite place is in the middle of nowhere on some hill surrounded by hauses which are slowly disintegrating (very much like the people who live inside them). You are obviously AVOIDING SOMETHING HERE.
The truth is I like being alone up there, because I hate confrontation. I'm so scared of defending what I really believe. I would much rather hide up there and quietly "believe it to myself" without letting anyone know. I'm somehow embarassed of things I've found out to be true. Instead of defending them, I tend to just filter through my friends and see which ones would accept it and which ones would dispute. And here comes the horrible bit: if I think they'd dispute I just disappear from their lives. I'm absent when we talk, I sort of fade into the background. I'm free to stay and let hell break loose but I just run away. I leave them because I fear they'll leave me. Clever me.
Someone send me some backbone for Christmas. I do most desperately need it. I have this dream that one day I'll pluck up the courage to approach every nice person I've been mean to (I've been mean to nice people only) and tell them why I left them; what I wanted so badly to hide about myself that led me to hide myself entirely. A card from your dear disappearing friend.
The truth is I like being alone up there, because I hate confrontation. I'm so scared of defending what I really believe. I would much rather hide up there and quietly "believe it to myself" without letting anyone know. I'm somehow embarassed of things I've found out to be true. Instead of defending them, I tend to just filter through my friends and see which ones would accept it and which ones would dispute. And here comes the horrible bit: if I think they'd dispute I just disappear from their lives. I'm absent when we talk, I sort of fade into the background. I'm free to stay and let hell break loose but I just run away. I leave them because I fear they'll leave me. Clever me.
Someone send me some backbone for Christmas. I do most desperately need it. I have this dream that one day I'll pluck up the courage to approach every nice person I've been mean to (I've been mean to nice people only) and tell them why I left them; what I wanted so badly to hide about myself that led me to hide myself entirely. A card from your dear disappearing friend.